


Gone Fishing

by ryfkah



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: F/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Workaholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-17
Updated: 2011-04-17
Packaged: 2017-10-18 05:28:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryfkah/pseuds/ryfkah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In eight years or so of nonstop political scheming, there may have been <i>one</i> faint doomed attempt at a vacation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gone Fishing

A commissioned officer in the Amestrian military organization receives one week of paid vacation a year and one week of paid sick leave, with no rollover. Fuhrer King Bradley often remarks jovially to his senior staff that he can always tell when it’s December by the flu epidemic that tragically depopulates the military offices right before every New Year. (The Fuhrer never uses his sick leave, and takes his one week of vacation, regular as clockwork, around the time of his wife’s birthday in the spring.)

It’s October when Colonel Mustang says to his aide, “Lieutenant, you haven’t taken your leave yet this year.”

Hawkeye finishes a calculation and looks up from her paperwork. “No, sir,” she says. _Why are you interrupting me to point out the obvious?_ her face says.

“You didn’t take your leave last year, either. Or the year before, except the day to attend Hughes’ wedding. ”

“Sir,” Hawkeye says, patiently, “neither did you.”

“Heh,” says Mustang. “Well.” He leans back in his chair, tapping his fingers together. “As it happens, I’m thinking about taking a week off sometime soon.”

Hawkeye raises her eyebrow, and Mustang elaborates: “I’ve heard it said, all work and no play . . .”

“Said by the lieutenant colonel,” Hawkeye helpfully reminds him. “While bragging about his wife on the private line.”

Someone else might point out that it doesn’t seem Colonel Mustang is at risk of suffering much from an overactive work ethic, what with all the calls they hear him placing to six or seven different girlfriends – on the official military phone lines, no less. Hawkeye has practiced eyerolls in place for these occasions.

But while Roy Mustang might have a flair for turning his work into play, putting his play ahead of his work – no. That’s not a fault he has.

It’s quiet now, though, and, if they’re lucky, likely to be quiet for some time. No major uprisings on the horizon; no important maneuvers to be pushed through or training overhauls to complete; no problems, so far as either of them can tell, that can be solved with the signature Flame Alchemist flamboyance to push Mustang one step higher on the ladder.

Mustang is still leaning back in his chair, fingertips together, his scheming-and-conversing pose. “Lieutenant,” he says, “do you know much about fishing?”

“Not very much,” Hawkeye says. “I’ve gone a few times.”

“It’s supposed to be peaceful, isn’t it?”

“It is, sir. Unless you catch a big one. They can have some fight in them.”

Mustang’s smirk is a little crooked, and slightly less smug than the usual office variety. “Really, Lieutenant?” he says. “Sounds like it could be risky.”

Hawkeye looks at him – _seriously, sir?_ – and he says, “I’m starting to wonder if I’ll need to watch my back.”

“I’ve never been attacked by a fish from behind,” Hawkeye remarks. Pauses, and adds, “But I wouldn’t rule out the possibility in your case, sir.” Colonel Mustang has been known to inspire intense dislike in a number of people, after all. Why not in a fish?

“Thanks,” says Mustang, dry, and leans forward again. He bites his pen, then picks up a piece of paper that needs his signature. Hawkeye bends her head and goes back to the accounts.

“October seventh through twelfth,” Mustang muses out loud. “That seems like a good week to go fishing.” Hawkeye doesn’t look up, and a second later she can hear the scratching of the pen that indicates that the Colonel is back at work.

Next week, standing at attention, Lieutenant Hawkeye salutes and presents her superior officer with her request for five days’ vacation leave, October seventh through twelfth.

“Vacation, huh, Lieutenant?” says Mustang blandly. “Well, you’ve earned it.”

“I hear fishing’s nice this time of year,” says Hawkeye.

“Make sure it’s restful,” says Mustang. “I’ll be working you ragged again when you get back.”

He’s smirking again as he signs the request, with a flourish, and that evening Hawkeye goes to talk to Warrant Officer Falman (an avid fisher) about the best place to go to rent a boat in the streams around East City.

A week later, there’s a sudden flurry of activity; Master Sergeant Fuery thinks he’s cracked a key code in the communications network of the Aerugan arms smugglers, and if they’re careful they might be able to lure the ringleader into a trap. Hawkeye is running dispatches all day, and when she comes back, Mustang is at his desk, his arms folded in front of him and no hint of a smile on his face.

“I’m sorry, Lieutenant,” he says.

“It’s all right, sir,” Hawkeye says, straight-backed, eyes correctly forward, and hands him the paperwork for cancelling an official leave. She’s already filled it out; it just needs his signature.

The Colonel takes it, looks at it, and then hands it back to her. “As a matter of fact,” he says, “I’ll still need you to take your leave, but –”

Colonel Roy Mustang cancels his vacation October seventh through twelfth. Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye takes hers, as scheduled. The people in adjoining offices complain that as soon as the Colonel’s scary lieutenant goes away, he’s always on their shared line babbling to his girlfriend Elizabeth; you can’t leave the Colonel unattended for a minute, they say, and breathe a sigh of relief when the Lieutenant reappears and presents herself at the Colonel’s desk for duty once again.

Along with herself, Lieutenant Hawkeye also presents a case filled with Aerugan bombs, and a neat typed file explaining exactly where and how they were obtained.

“Enjoy your shopping trip, Lieutenant?” Mustang asks, eyebrows raised.

“I’ve had better customer service, sir,” says Hawkeye. She salutes, takes the message he hands her, and heads back out the door to deliver it to General Grumman.

Falman is lurking around outside the office waiting for her. “Shopping trip?” he says, falling into step next to her. “I thought you went fishing?”

“I did,” Hawkeye says.


End file.
